thoughts on turning thirty (or 'what it is to grow up')...

DISCLAIMER:
I’ve really struggled with this particular blog, deleting, re-arranging my confused thoughts, rewriting, and trying to make sense of what Im trying to say.

it feels like it should be a momentous one.

which inevitably means it is long and rambling…more so than usual.

I apologise- you have been warned.

so, in a matter of days i am soon to hit ‘the big 3-0’, and that has always seemed in an abstract way, to be pretty old. by thirty you are traditionally expected to have it all planned out, sorted and set.… and yet, i don’t really feel like i’m quite there yet.

of course, i’m quite a lot of the way there- i am educated, married, and a property owner (if only by default, in the ‘what’s mine is yours’ clause of marriage).

and over the past couple of years i have made some pretty massive grown up decisions about my career, and the path i want my life to take.

but, those decisions were based on what I knew I didn’t want, and if I’m honest, I still don’t think I really know what I do want to be ‘when I grow up’.

when starting this blog I chose the words of a Frank Turner song as my inspiration- I said I didn’t want to grow up.

a year down the line, an undoubtedly maturer me is re-considering this statement.

i still hold true to the sentiment i plucked out of the lyrics- i don’t want to stagnate, or be bored or made miserable by my life. but now, i don’t think that ‘growing up’ is necessarily about that.

i have with my swiftly approaching ‘coming of age’, and undoubtedly aided by the past year of pushing myself out of familiar territory and out of my comfort zone, come to a certain level of maturity and self-knowledge.

and now i think that perhaps, ‘growing up’ is instead about accepting yourself, your strengths and your weaknesses, taking responsibility for your decisions and actions, and not only coping with the hand that fate deals you, but turning it round and making something positive; making the most of it; making a life out of it.

and so, i recognise that i’m not going to change the world, or be famous or a role-model or an icon. i think, that this is a fairly commonly held conception in young children (and all the contestants on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ it seems); i expect because as a child it seems that the whole of your little world seems to revolve around you, and ergo when you grow up you surely must be a fairly important and vital part of the grown up world.

but i’m embarrassed to admit that i continued to have a feeling that fame would sneak up and thrust itself upon me long after i should have outgrown this notion. i was always unclear how, or why exactly, i just had a feeling that i was destined for some kind of infamy. perhaps that is subconsciously what drove me to pursue a career in television when i went to university. (I know it was what pushed me to nearly appear on a couple of crappy reality shows during my time there- i was a shortlisted contestant on both ‘Bar Wars’ and ‘Cruel Summer’…. yes, i’m sure those would have been a perfect first stepping stone on the road to greatness for me…not humiliating and exploitative at all…hmm…)

but in this current age of celebrity and 15 minute fame, WAGS and X-Factor and Big Brother, it is clear that being famous doesn’t validate you or give you worth, rather the opposite. ‘icons’ are made and crushed in a week on the pages of gossip mags and tabloids, and i don’t think that was ever what i wanted or envisaged.

and in coming to a clearer understanding of myself as i approach the state of ‘thirty-ness’, i’ve realised that not only am i just an average Joe, not destined for stardom or greatness at all, i’m really very happy with that, and just hopeful for a nice, contented life. and i do believe that just by being nice to people and smiling at strangers, giving directions, or offering a helping hand you can affect people, and you can improve the world by just a smidgen on a day to day basis.

and though i might not change the world in any massive tangible way by doing this alone, i like to think that one day i will have children, and raise them responsibly and well with the same attitude, and in my own little way i will have left a legacy, spread a little love and changed the world simply through their existence.

and in this acceptance of my averageness, i have come to the realisation that i also have to accept the skin i’m in- its not magically going to change, however much i may wish it so at times (on the beach, in Topshop changing rooms, whilst watching ‘Britain’s Next Top Model’…). i am of an age where i have to be realistic, and accept the physical limitations placed on me by my genes. but, in this acceptance i have also come to recognise potential attributes that i have spent the past 10 years turning a blind eye to.

so, i accept that i will never be a perfect size 8 unless i permanently starve myself, and combine that with a punishing exercise regime. and i really don’t like starving myself….or punishing exercise come to that….

i accept that i will never be able to bounce around happily without a bra, nor wear a cropped top. but then, i don’t really think 30 year olds should bounce around bra-less or wear cropped tops, so its probably a good thing that i know not to be tempted.

and though i’m sure i will on occasion moan about the size of my arse, or wish for a washboard stomach, the benefit of not being a size 8, apart from all that money saved on crop tops, is that i have nice curves, good boobs, and a feminine shape. the older i get, and the more practice i have, the more able i am to dress to that shape, embrace it and enhance it. as long as my boobs continue to defy the pencil test i reckon i don’t have too much to complain about.

i accept that i will probably always struggle with the occasional outbreak of adult acne, a legacy from my father. i am seemingly an impressive annomaly in that i have both the forehead wrinkles and laughter lines of someone quite a few years my senior, and the odd vicious whitehead of someone 15 years my junior.

but, it could be worse- i have friends who have had to deal with really difficult eczema, rosacea and birth marks, and they don’t complain. so frankly, whining about a spot or two seems a bit petty.

i accept that i will always have a lump on the bridge of my nose. i didn’t particularly love my nose as a teenager, but then i bashed it in on a pavement when i was twenty in a piggy-back related incident (there was vodka involved), and it has never been the same since. i looked very seriously into my options for corrective plastic surgery before i got married because I used to be very self conscious of it. but before i could part with any money some good friends and my now husband talked me out of it, and i’m actually quite glad. my slightly wonky nose is a part of me, it tells a story (quite a funny one at that! 2am piggy back races? really??) and to be honest i don’t think most people even notice it.

and i accept that i have horrible feet, a legacy from my mother. they are really rather horrid- they have on occasion prompted total strangers to say “ooh, gross, what’s wrong with your feet??”. they are flat, bunioned, skinny and veiny. i have long toes, and dropped balls (if you will excuse the turn of phrase), and my heels have a tendency to crack and split like rhino hooves. since i’ve been out in the bush they have reached new heights of nastiness, my soles are like sandpaper (incidentally, that is also what I am using to attempt to keep them under control, i shit you not!) and the dirt is so deeply ingrained that i wonder if they will ever be clean again.

and, as well as being ugly, due to their ridiculous shape, i will never be able to stand for more than a minute or two in heels over 2 ½ inches, let alone walk, let alone wear them all evening in a sexy and seductive way.

but, most of the time (in England at least) you can wear socks.

and boots.

and for the times when I can’t hide them in boots i at least have nice neat little ankles to distract from the horrid feet.

i am also accepting of the fact that i have a tendency to be a bit flaky (i’ve moved from physical attributes to character traits now… though on occasion it would probably be fair to use the word ‘flaky’ to describe my feet…). i am very bad at saying no, and often find myself carried away with others enthusiasm. i will often half-commit to something that i’m not really up for- a night out say- and then find that in actuality i am utterly exhausted, or have a million other things that need doing, and going out with friends gets bumped from my list of priorities, so i back out last minute.

this is something i need to work on. its not that i’m totally unreliable socially, and when it comes to something important i do stick to my guns- as demonstrated by the number of hen dos i’ve organised, or by the fact that i have been asked to be a bridesmaid for one of my girlfriends next year, or simply by dint of the number of friends i have managed to retain over the years- but i recognise that letting people down, in any capacity, is not a good quality, and at the very least i need to be stronger and not agree to doing something that i don’t really want to do in the first place, to avoid getting last minute attacks of the flakes.

i understand that I set very high standards for myself and those around me in the workplace- i am intolerant of laziness, and slovenliness. i know this can make me difficult to work with- i will lose my temper if things are not done to the highest possible standard, if cutlery is mismatched, or the deck is not swept. but at the same time, i am using this perfectionism to improve the guest experience here in the bushcamp, and as long as i utilise this tendency towards OCD in a positive way rather than just stropping about the minutiae it needn’t be a weakness.

i shy away from confrontation; i am terrible at decisive decision making; i am easily swayed.

i am scared of lots of things, and i don’t like to be alone in my own company for very long.

i probably care too much about what people think of me, though not really in a vain way, more in an insecure way.

i read too quickly, pick my feet, don’t use night cream, still smoke too much, and have no self control when it comes to biscuits.

but at least i recognise all these things, accept they are parts of me, and i’m working on them.

and i recognise also that i am hard-working and a good employee. i’m a loving daughter, a supportive and enthusiastic wife and a loyal friend. i’m not a genius, but im certainly not stupid. i can talk to almost anyone, i can make most people laugh, and i genuinely care about the people around me. i want to make people happy, and when i succeed at that it makes me happy.

i have faults, but i also have strengths, and if i was perfect i’d probably be pretty dull.

i accept myself, and i’m pretty comfortable in my own skin, and so even though i don’t have everything planned out, and i don’t know exactly where i’m going with my life, maybe that doesn’t really matter. i may not know exactly ‘what i want to be when i grow up’, but i do know what i already am, and the general direction i’m heading.

maybe that in itself is enough.

i was listening to a different Frank Turner album the other day, and with a flash of clarity i realised that the words to ‘Photosynthesis’ were now to me less relevant, and less inspirational than the words to a more recent song he has written.

“I wanna live fast, and I wanna die old,

end my days in a house with high windows,

on the quiet shores of the south coast.”

it seems perhaps his outlook on life has shifted a little, as has mine.

maybe we have both grown up after all.